Brazen Virtue

Prologue
    A ND WHAT WOULD YOU like me to do to you?” the woman who called herself Desiree asked. She had a voice like rose petals. Soft and sweet. She did her job well, very well, and customers asked for her over and over again. She was talking to one of her repeaters now, and she knew his preferences. “I’d love to,” she murmured. “Just close your eyes, close your eyes and relax. I want you to forget all about the office, and your wife, and your business partner. It’s just you and me.”
    When he spoke to her, she answered with a low laugh. “Yes, you know I will. Don’t I always? Just close your eyes, and listen. The room’s quiet and lit by candles. Dozens of white, scented candles. Can you smell them?” She gave another low, teasing laugh. “That’s right. White. The bed’s white too, big and round and white. You’re lying on it, naked and ready. Are you ready, Mr. Drake?”

    She rolled her eyes. It killed her that the guy wanted her to call him mister. But it took all kinds. “I’ve just come out of the shower. My hair’s wet, and there are little beads of water all over my body. There’s a drop clinging to my nipple. It slides off and onto you as I kneel on the bed. Feel it? Yes, yes, that’s right, it’s cool, cool, and you’re so hot.” She fought back a yawn. Mr. Drake was already breathing like a steam engine. Thank God he was so easily satisfied. “Oh, I want you. I can’t keep my hands off you. I want to touch you, to taste you. Yes, yes, it drives me crazy when you do that. Oh, Mr. Drake, you’re the best. The very best.”
    For the next few minutes she just listened to his demands and delights. Listening was the biggest part of her job. He was right on the edge now, and she glanced at her watch, grateful. Not only was his time almost up, but he was her last customer of the evening. Dropping her voice to a whisper, she helped him go over the top.
    “Yes, Mr. Drake, it was wonderful. You’re wonderful. No, I’m not working tomorrow. Friday? Yes, I’ll look forward to it. Good night, Mr. Drake.”
    She listened for the click, then hung up the phone. Desiree became Kathleen. Ten-fifty-five, she thought with a sigh. She was off at eleven, so there should be no more calls that night. She had papers to grade, and a pop quiz to make up for her students for tomorrow. As she rose, she glanced at the phone. She’d made two hundred tonight, thanks to AT&T and Fantasy, Incorporated. With a laugh, she picked up her coffee cup. It was a hell of a lot better than selling magazines.
    Only miles away, another man clung to the phone receiver. His hand was damp. The room smelled of sex, but he was alone. In his mind Desiree had been there. Desiree with her white, wet body and her cool, soothing voice.
    Desiree.
    With his heart still pumping fast, he stretched out on his bed.
    Desiree.
    He had to meet her. And soon.

Chapter 1
    T HE PLANE BANKED OVER the Lincoln Memorial. Grace had her briefcase open on her lap. There were a dozen things to be packed away, but she stared out the window, pleased to see the ground rushing up toward her. There was nothing, as far as she was concerned, that was quite the same as flying.
    The plane was late. She knew that because the man across from her in seat 3B kept complaining about it. Grace was tempted to reach across the aisle and pat his hand, to assure him that ten minutes in the scheme of things really didn’t matter so much. But he didn’t look as though he would appreciate the sentiment.
    Kathleen would be complaining too, she thought. Not out loud or anything, Grace mused as she smiled and settled back for the landing. Kathleen might have been just as irritated as 3B, but she would never have been rude enough to mumble and moan.

    If Grace knew her sister, and she did, Kathleen would have left home over an hour before, making certain to take into consideration the unpredictability of Washington traffic. Grace had heard the note in Kathleen’s voice betraying her annoyance with Grace that she’d chosen a flight that would arrive at six-fifteen, the height of rush hour. With twenty minutes to spare, Kathleen would have parked her car in the short-term lot, rolled up the windows, locked the doors, and made her way, without being tempted by the shops, to the gate. She would never have gotten lost or mixed the numbers up in her mind.
    Kathleen was always early. Grace was always late. That was nothing new.
    Still she hoped, really hoped, there could